


A Rare Pair

by MizJoely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, salstrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots featuring our favorite Detective Inspector and Sergeant, pairing up for a little extra-curricular activity when the work day ends. Ratings will vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Art by Holnnes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PetraTodd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/gifts).



> Once again a certain portion of the fandom was using The Silver Fox like a consolation prize for Molly. "Molly should be with Greg, not someone who'll just use and abuse her like Sherlock!" (Meanwhile those same folks DESPERATELY want Sherlock and John together. Go figure.) So this is my first response to the wank. And since I now have three separate salstrade stories, I figured I'd start a collection for this rarest of rare pairs. Various ratings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A commission piece by Holnnes.tumblr.com. Isn't it lovely?


	2. Consolation Prize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for suggestive language and swearing

Sometimes Greg Lestrade felt like nothing but a bloody consolation prize, especially when Sherlock would swan in and figure out the murderer in five minutes, after the Met had been at their wits end for months. The press would fawn over the consulting detective and entirely overlook the actual police who’d done the hardest part: gathering up the evidence that Sherlock bloody Holmes then used to solve the crime.

But then Sally Donovan would touch his sleeve and grin at him, knowing damn well how hard they’d both worked and that catching the murderer was more important than squabbling over who got credit, and suddenly being in the background didn’t matter anymore. Let Sherlock bask in the limelight; he wasn’t going home at night with the woman he loved. Hell, he wasn’t even banging John Watson the way so many people thought he was; Lestrade knew for a fact that if he ever tried anything like that the other man would haul off and punch him right in the nose!

However, as he and Sally made their way to his car after the press conference had ended, Lestrade caught a glimpse of Sherlock disappearing around a corner, coat fluttering dramatically...with no John Watson in tow for a change. Curious, Lestrade tugged Sally along in the consulting git’s wake, childishly pressing a finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing gesture. She raised an eyebrow but followed along, tolerantly indulging his curiosity even though he knew she was eager to get back to their shared flat.

Sally Donovan was the best thing to happen to him since he and his wife had finally broken up, and well he knew it, but he was dying to know where Sherlock was going, since it clearly wasn’t back to Baker Street with John, who’d vanished in the opposite direction with his arm around his latest girlfriend.

The answer to that question turned out to be a block of flats only a few streets down from where the press conference had been held. Waiting in the shadows, clasping Sally's hand in his and pretending he wasn't gasping for a smoke, Lestrade watched as Sherlock moved confidently to the first door, rapped on it, and waited approximately ten seconds before it opened.

"Fuck me," Sally breathed, while Lestrade gaped and tried very very hard to grasp what he was seeing.

Molly Hooper, the sweet little pathologist from St. Barts, was not only smiling at Sherlock and ushering him in, but she was wearing a very tiny yellow dress as she did so - and tip-toeing up to press a very passionate kiss on the other man's lips. A kiss he seemed more than eager to return! Then the door was closing behind the pair - but not before Sherlock turned and very deliberately waved at the pair of them.

"Cheeky bastard," Sally muttered. "Knew we were here the whole time. D'you think that's why he did it? Kissed her, I mean? Nah," she answered herself before Lestrade could do more than open his mouth. "It's probably why he kissed her right there on the front steps, but I'm betting that's been going on for a while now."

"How? Woman's intuition?" Lestrade teased, knowing how much she hated the term.

Sure enough Sally wrinkled her nose at him and mock-punched him on the shoulder - possibly a bit harder than she'd meant to, possibly exactly as hard as she'd meant to. "Don't be a dick," she said without rancor as they began the walk back to the car. "They just seemed too comfortable with each other. She was the one doing the kissing, and I'd lay even odds that Molly Hooper wouldn't let him use her, not like this. Even if he has flirted with her to get body parts," she added just as Lestrade was about to remind her of that very fact. "You told me about the Christmas party, how she stood up to him. After that?" She shook her head. "No way he'd get away with manipulating her. She's onto him now, and if they're actually, y'know, together..." She wrinkled her nose at the idea, but continued: "Then it's real. Huh, imagine that. I guess having John Watson around has been a good influence after all."

"I guess it has," Lestrade agreed. "Maybe Sherlock's finally on his way to being a good man after all."

"Not as good as some," Sally said as they reached the car. The rest of the crowd had fully dispersed, and they were alone on the darkened street. Lestrade gave a startled "oof" as she pressed him against the car, leaning up to snog him thoroughly, much to their mutual enjoyment. "Enough about that git," she said huskily when the kiss ended. She ran her fingers through his hair, raking her nails into his scalp in the way she knew drove him absolutely wild. "Take me home and shag me, Detective Inspector. I need you to be balls-deep in me as soon as possible."

It made him wild when Sally talked dirty to him like that; he pulled her close for another passionate snog that left them both breathing heavily when it ended. Lestrade wasted no time in getting the pair of them into the car and back to their flat, Sherlock Holmes and his newly-discovered love life a distant memory. 

Lestrade had his own love life to think about - and no consolation prize about it!


	3. Top Rated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sally's soundtrack for this chapter is "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E

Sally Donovan liked sex, no two ways about it. She’d rarely been disappointed in any her lovers, male or female, and she damned well knew she’d not disappointed a single one of them.

As she raised and lowered her body over that of her current lover, she leaned down with a confident smile to purr in his ear, “So? Enjoying yourself, Detective Inspector?”

“God yes,” he gasped out, hands reaching for her face to pull her down for a sloppy, urgent kiss. She swiveled her hips just so and he moaned against her lips. She did so love watching him come undone while he fucked her, tufts of that gorgeous silver hair sticking up wildly, damp with sweat and in desperate need of a comb. She loved knowing that she was the one putting that look of desperate need on his face, causing his eyes to roll back and his lips to twist as she brought him closer and closer to orgasm.

And of course, she loved how he’d done the same for her, his mouth on her pussy, her legs thrown over his shoulders until she’d shouted his name and let loose a string of profanities her mother would have fainted to hear. After she’d come down from that first high, she’d rolled him on his back and sucked on his cock until he’d begged for mercy, trembling and sweating but valiantly holding himself back until she’d straddled his supine form, easing her way down his cock until she’d taken him fully, deeply inside her.

She sat up and grinned happily as he thumbed her clit, resting her hands on his thighs and speeding her movements. “Not long,” she panted, reaching up with one hand to pinch hard on her right nipple. Greg groaned again, the slap of flesh on flesh getting louder and more urgent as he dug his free hand into her hip. “That’s it, Greg, just like that, just a little more…”

She let out a wail as her orgasm washed over her, feeling him pulsing inside her as he came just as hard. They collapsed together afterwards, Sally groaning out, “Fuck, Greg, that was bloody brilliant!”

“What can I say, I was inspired,” he replied, giving her a long, loving kiss. “Just like always.”

She grinned and kissed him back. “Just like always,” she echoed happily.


	4. Grabbing Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the life of my mirror!verse Lestrade and Donovan. Just two good people trying to grab happiness in a corrupt and evil world. Rated T for bad language, smoking and suggestive situations. Woot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my mirror!verse from the story "Torn". Rated T.

“So, the wife finally kicked you out, yeah?”

Lestrade leaned back against the corner of the building, took a deep drag off his cigarette and let it out in a stream of smoke before answering. “Yeah.”

He watched Donovan out of the corner of his eye, noting the disapproving glance she gave his cigarette. He knew she hated them, called them cancer sticks and told him they’d kill him someday, but he was too addicted to give them up. Besides, stress was more likely to kill him, or a robbery gone wrong…or Sherlock fucking-crime-lord Holmes. Cigarettes were a balm to his troubled soul, along with a few pints at the end of the day. Sex had once been part of his relaxation routine, but since his soon-to-be ex-wife had started fucking their son’s football coach, well, his own right hand had starting getting a regular workout. It wasn’t nearly as good as actual sex – he’d never been one to prefer a wank to the real thing – but since he wasn’t the type to fool around even on an unfaithful wife, it had been his only option.

Now, however, with the missus telling him she needed a man who would be home at night, working a regular job and available on weekends and holidays, all bets were off. Yeah, he and Marian had been dancing this dance for the last five years of their marriage, but this time was different.

This time, he was tired of the lies and the half-arsed promises and the affairs.

This time, he was ready for a change.

“Wanna grab a pint?” he asked, fully expecting to be turned down. Donovan was fifteen years younger than he was, a damn beautiful woman, and he was her boss. If any other man at NSY asked a subordinate out and she turned him down, make sure to get back at her. But Donovan knew he wasn’t like that; he prided himself on managing to hold onto some form of integrity in spite of the fucked up world they lived in. If she wanted to say no, she’d say no and there would be no repercussions. Except him drinking alone, of course, but he was used to that. The only other DI he got along with outside of work was Dimmock and the two of them rarely got off shift at the same time these days. Lestrade would suspect it was deliberate if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew what their respective caseloads were like.

And if, on the wildly unlikely chance she said yes, he’d know it wasn’t because she was looking to sleep herself into a promotion or a favored position; it would be because she actually wanted…

“Yeah.”

Lestrade sucked in a startled breath, which unfortunately included the cloud of smoke he’d just exhaled; coughed, coughed again, and snatched the cigarette out of his mouth as he heard Donovan snickering. He dropped the butt to the pavement and ground it out beneath his heel as she came closer, stopping in front of him, arms crossed over her chest and those gorgeous brown eyes gazing steadily at his. “Say that again,” he rasped, wiping a hand across his mouth and wishing desperately that he had a mint or a stick of gum, anything to cover his cigarette-and-coffee breath.

Donovan – Sally – uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, turning her head at the last second and putting her lips next to his left ear. “I said, ‘yeah’,” she breathed, and he felt those lovely lips close around his earlobe and knew he was going to kiss her, right there in the parking garage below NSY, where anyone could walk in on them, and that he didn’t give a fuck how it would look.

She turned her head, her hands landing on his shoulders as he pulled her close, their mouths meeting with a passionate desperation that he hadn’t felt in years. Kissing Marian had become mechanical, something he just did, but kissing Sally was like being back at the Academy, when he’d been in his twenties and still had some real optimism about the future.

Kissing Sally was like suddenly finding hope again.

oOo

She hadn’t planned this, kissing Greg, no matter how long she’d been thinking about doing just that. He was a good guy, sure, and she was attracted to him for that as much as for his wry smile and craggy features, his prematurely grey hair and warm brown eyes. Oh, that fit body he kept up wasn’t difficult to notice, either, but it was his kindness that had first caught her attention, made her see him as something other than yet another male obstacle to the future she’d mapped out for herself.

Taking things further was dangerous for both of them, for very different reasons, but she found herself with a completely reckless ‘fuck everyone else’ attitude at the moment. Yes, she could damage her own prospects by appearing to take the same route so many other women in her position were forced into – screwing the boss to get ahead – and yes, Greg might get a lot of shit for sleeping with her since she was black and too many people in the force resented her because of the color of her skin. And there were a few hypocrites who would hassle him because he was married, even as they went off to shag their own mistresses. But if Greg was worried about it then he’d put on the brakes, she knew she could trust him to do that much.

And if it turned out to fuck up her own chances of being more than just a glorified coffee-fetcher for the other officers she worked with? Screw them. Greg Lestrade was worth any ten of the other assholes the two of them worked with, and she’d already hitched her wagon to his star as far as her career was concerned. 

Besides, the two of them worked really well together, well enough that she was willing to risk taking this sort of chance with him, even if only for one night. With those thoughts running at lightning speed through her mind, Sally deepened the kiss, letting Greg know without words exactly how far she was willing to take this, and silently hoping he would be willing to go just as far.

An hour later they were back at hers, the only thing between them a rapidly decreasing layer of clothes. Half an hour after that they were lying next to one another, glowing with sweat, sated and more than a bit pleased with how loudly they’d made one another moan.

Greg made as if to grab a cigarette, then hesitated, glancing over at Sally. She sighed and waved permission, making sure to scoot as far to the opposite side of the bed as she could while he sucked on his stupid fucking cancer stick. They should make the cigarette companies put warning labels on the damn things, but the advertisers blocked any kind of movement in that direction and probably always would. 

After he finished she took it from him, reaching over to drop it in the half-empty glass of water she’d left on her nightstand. smiled up at her and pulled her down for a lingering kiss. “That,” he said when the kiss ended, “was fucking amazing. How did I get so lucky, hmm? A woman with looks, brains and ambition?”

“Don’t forget my killer blowjob,” Sally teased.

Greg’s eyes rolled upward and he collapsed his head on the pillow in exaggerated exhaustion. “Yeah, about that…next time warn a bloke, eh? This was almost over before I was half-started!”

“Well, you did a nice job of returning the favor,” Sally reminded him, humming in remembered pleasure. “God, the things you can do with your tongue!”

They might have gone on for a bit longer in post-coital bliss, just savoring the moment, but both her and Greg’s mobiles abruptly went off. “Fuck,” he said succinctly after he fished it out of his trouser pocket. “That bastard Holmes’ has done it again. Fished a body out of the Thames – one of ours,” he added grimly.

Sally’s phone had said pretty much the same thing, an unhappy reminder for the two of them that all happiness was fleeting at best. “So much for being off duty,” she grumbled as she stood up and started redressing herself. Greg quickly joined her, pulling her close for another kiss first.

“Yeah, well, maybe we can…do this again, sometime? Maybe with dinner first, or, I dunno, a walk in the park? The one with the barbed wire on the top of the stone wall by St. Bart’s isn’t too bad, they keep the derelicts and drug dealers rousted most days.”

Sally met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yeah, that sounds good,” she said, pecking him on the lips and then bending down to grab her bra. She heard him stifle a groan and grinned to herself; it might be a dangerous thing they were doing, trying to grab happiness in a miserable, broken excuse for a world, but if danger scared them, they wouldn’t be coppers.

And maybe, just maybe, this time that wanker Holmes had made a mistake, the kind that they could use to send his sorry, psychopathic ass to jail, even get him the death penalty.

After all, a girl could dream. And with Greg as her partner and lover? Well, her dreams just got a little closer to coming true.


	5. It's All In The Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T for language (tsk, Greg is such a potty mouth!)

Sally’s confidence is what first attracts him to her. Yeah, she’s gorgeous and fit and her figure is amazing (as are her eyes and her smile and everything else about her), but it’s her confidence he notices first. He’s trained himself (fat lot of good that’s done) not to notice female colleagues as women unless a specific case requires it, but he’s never quite managed not to notice it about Sergeant Sally Donovan.

She’s confident, sure of herself, unwilling to be a tea-bringer in a male-dominated field, and she’s damned good at her job. She’s a crack shot who won’t take any shit and finally he admits to himself that he doesn’t just admire her professionalism, but he admires her as a person as well. If things were different...ah, but they’re not, are they? He’s her superior (though he winces at that term), he’s married, she’s rumored to have a boyfriend...so they’re just work-friends who sometimes meet up at the pub after a case, always with other people, and he restricts himself to the occasional daydream where Things Are Different.

And then suddenly, things are different. The boyfriend is gone (turns out he was married and never actually going to leave his wife the way she’d believed he would) and he’s divorced (for good, this time, no trial separations and almost-reconciliations) and...other things have happened, things he doesn’t want to think about, and even though she’s still technically working under him, he decides to say sod-all and take a chance.

She turns him down, but gently, politely - kind but firm. “Greg, you’re grieving. This isn’t the right time. Ask me again in a year, if you still want to.”

He frowns and runs a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. They’re standing in the parking garage next to his beat up old Ford, and she’s holding the keys to her car in her hand and wearing a sad, understanding smile on her face. “I fucked this up, didn’t I,” he says ruefully. “You think I’m just asking because Sherlock...because he...”

He falls silent, and she places a soft hand on his arm, squeezing gently before letting go and backing up a step. “He’s been gone less than a year, Greg. He was your friend, and we’re partly responsible for why he did it. We weren’t wrong,” she adds when he opens his mouth to object. “We went where the evidence led us, we did our jobs. It’s not our fault that the evidence was manufactured, that he was being framed, but yeah, there’s some guilt there. You’re not the only one feeling it. Even if I never liked him that much, doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets. Ask me again in a year,” she repeats with another sad smile. “When it’s not so raw. Or don’t,” she adds, “if you change your mind by then. All right?”

He nods. “All right.” She leaves, and he watches her go, wondering if she’s right, but knowing in his gut (and more importantly, in his heart), that she’s wrong.

A year later he’s in the same parking garage, lighting a smoke when a ghost’s voice advises him, “Those things will kill you.”

The first thing he does after Sherlock not-so-fucking-dead-after-all Holmes leaves is to fish out his mobile and make a call. “Sally? Yeah, it’s me. You’re not gonna believe this...but before I tell you, would you like to have dinner with me?”

He grins when she says yes, and grins even harder when she starts spewing startled obscenities at the news he’s called to share with her.

Yeah, it wasn’t just the grief talking. It wasn’t just both of them becoming available at the same time.

It was never about anyone else but her, and he can’t wait to see how things unfold between them.

After, of course, she stops cursing out Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Spiders of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my Flash Fic Fest, anonymous asked: salstrade // Spiders of hell

“KILL IT! KILL IT!! KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE! SEND IT BACK TO HELL WHERE IT BELONGS!!!!”

The shrill screams echoed through the flat they shared.

“Shut it, Greg,” Sally called from the kitchen. “I’m rolling up the newspaper now.”

She rolled her eyes; honestly, how had her darling husband ever made it to detective, let alone DI, with such a crushing fear of arachnids?


	7. It may harm your defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quarto asked: How about for Salstrade, "It may harm your defense."

"Right. So tell me, in your own words, what exactly happened to delay you, Greg. And do bear in mind," Sally added, her face and voice both utterly neutral, "that whatever you say right now - it may harm your defence."

Greg bit his lower lip and raked his fingers through his close-cropped hair, wishing, not for the first time, that he was capable of coming up with a good way to lie to Sally. Not because he wanted to deceive her, but because he was a coward and an idiot, but mostly because he feared the truth would be the straw that broke the camel's back. So to speak. Not that he was comparing Sally to a camel - God, never let THAT slip from mind to tongue! No, it was just because he was terrified of losing the most important person in his life because of the aforesaid idiocy and cowardice.

With a sigh, he resigned himself to his fate. Looking the white-gowned woman dead in the eyes (gorgeous, dark brown eyes that sparkled so beautifully when she was happy but were flat pools at the moment), he said, "Sherlock called. Needed me to come to the morgue. Said it was for a case."

Sally nodded, still radiating absolute calm. "Of course. Sherlock Holmes needed you the night before your wedding so of course you went at the drop of an ear-hat. So what was it - chasing after criminals all night? Round trip by train to Wales?" She raked her eyes over his form, and finally he could see the disapproval in them - and, worst of all, the hurt. "He's always going to be more bloody important to you than I am, isn't he. Maybe we should…call it off now, Greg."

He held up his hands placatingly. "No, Sally, it wasn't like that, I swear! It wasn't a case." He shuddered. "It was…my stag do. The one I said I didn't want. He and John and Mike and Phillip and Gary Dimmock got me so pissed I overslept and Sherlock and the others are still out cold so I don't have a Best Man but Sally, I promise you…" He stepped forward, reaching out, huffing out a relieved breath when she allowed him to take her hands. "I promise you, nothing could keep me from marrying you today. I love you," he added softly, sincerely. "I do, I swear. You mean more to me than anyone."

"So why didn't you call or text?" she asked, not - quite - letting him off the hook. Not with a chapel full of friends and family - minus the culprits he'd just named as partners in crime - waiting for them.

"Sherlock did something to my phone, said he didn't want me making excuses to duck out, and then I, er, sort of misplaced it," he confessed miserably. "And then when I woke up, saw what time it was, all I could think about was getting dressed and getting here as quickly as I could."

Sally pursed her lips, tilted her head to one side, and gave him a considering look. "Right," she said after a long, agonizing moment. "It's your lucky day, Greg, coz I'm feeling very forgiving at the moment. But," she added warningly, going so far as to shake her bouquet of wildflowers in his face, "if you pull this kind of 'showing up at the last minute' crap when our baby's born, I'm kicking you to curb, got it?"

"Got it," Greg said, beaming. Then he did a double-take, his eyes darting to Sally's waistline. "Wait, that's a hypothetical baby, right? Right?"

"Guess you'll just have to wait and find out," she replied over her shoulder as she sashayed out of the room. "Now hurry up and get your gorgeous butt to the altar, before I change my mind!"

He was already moving before she'd made it much past the door, pausing only to press a grateful kiss to her lips. "I love you," he whispered as he started jogging down the short hallway leading to the main chapel.

And he knew he'd be more than happy to spend the rest of his life proving that to her.


	8. A Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffering from writer's block and lack of motivation, I asked folks to tell me to write on tumblr. writingwife83 responded with "Write a thing!" So I did! Enjoy this K+ rated bit of fluff.

"Well, that's it, it's officially a thing," Sally Donovan announced apropos of nothing.

"What? What's a thing?" Greg Lestrade asked around a mouthful of donut. The Americans didn't get a lot right, but their donuts were second to none.

"You and your newest love," Sally replied with a grin and a nod at what remained of his brownie batter donut. "You are officially a thing. We're done for, how can I possibly compete? Wedding's off."

Greg hastily swallowed his mouthful of donut, wiped his lips clean of crumbs, and hauled his fiancée close for a lingering kiss. "For you," he said when the kissed ended, gazing into her beautiful brown eyes, "I would give up donuts for the rest of my life. The wedding is definitely still on."

"Drama queen," she muttered with a roll of her eyes - but grinned as she pulled him in for another brownie-flavored kiss.


End file.
